Born Mad
by GroudonSupremacy
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was always considered to be one of the brightest minds on all the earth, second to his brother, of course. That all changes, however, when an asylum-escapee winds up on his doorstep with a wide grin and the case of the century. That escapee's story is something special, and this is it.
1. Prologue

Prologue

My father never loved me, nor did my mother. They locked me away in an insane asylum, paying off the headmaster there to keep me. It's pathetic, really, how easily a man can be bought if you flash a few hundred thousand pounds in their face. My parents did just that. Those rich, pathetic monstrosities never wanted a child, and instead of putting me up for adoption, do you know what they did? They paid off the cruelest asylum in all of Great Britain to keep me locked away while my beasts of parents moved off to America to live a life of luxury. I was to never see daylight again, and I would live there in captivity like an animal until death was gracious enough to greet me.

Too bad I'm not staying.


	2. Chapter One An Insane Escape

Chapter One

"An Insane Escape"

I suppose being around the insane for my entire life might have affected me for those past thirteen years. I mean, who would risk becoming a fugitive against the entire British Parliament just to prove that their parents were conceited idiots? I should be placed in an asylum for this lunacy! Oh, the irony is immense, isn't it?

I laughed out loud to myself at this thought, falling to my back on my wired cot and working free of the bonds of my straitjacket within seconds. It was just too simple to be true! Oh, but it was true. So very, wonderfully true!

I let out the highest fake scream I could muster so I could be sure someone would come to see what was going on. After all, I was in Parkhurst, the cruelest asylum in all of England. No ordinary scream would alert anyone of something being wrong. The screams of insanity were everywhere.

Upon hearing someone coming, I lay myself down on the floor, feigning unconsciousness and placing my hands as they would be if I were still bound.

Within seconds a guard was bending over, placing two fingers on my neck to feel for my pulse. However, his concern didn't last long as I opened my eyes, hissing, "Surprise," with a grin and the bashing of my skull into his. He reared back away from me upon the shock, but I didn't hesitate. My knee was in his stomach, and his neck was broken before he could even think of screaming. I kicked his body aside, shrugging off my straitjacket and picking up the guard's pager as it buzzed, my hearing a static-filled voice saying, "Officer Brown, what is wrong with Aurora?"

I clicked the speaker button, holding it to my lips. "Why, I'm sorry, but

Officer Brown can't come to the phone right now. May I take a message?"

I laughed triumphantly at the headmaster's cry of alarm while I put the pager in my back pocket with a grin, taking the .38 caliber revolver and taser with me as well. "Sorry, Brown, but you won't be needing these anymore."

I exited my Class A Security cell without another thought. I paid no mind to the ear-splitting screeches of insanity echoing throughout the stone prison as I made my way down the hall and up the stairwell, shooting anyone and everyone who stood in my way.

The escape was too easy, and, as I look back on that moment, I realize that I was inwardly hoping for someone to try and stop me, for someone to lock me back up and let me try again at my escape. But no one did. No one could. No one stood a chance against me, and they knew it too. Soon, all of England would know it.

I stood on the roof of Parkhurst, overlooking over the edge and at the ocean waters crashing against the rocky cliff below. Whoever designed that place had the right idea in mind. The place was a geographical oddity smack dab in the middle of the ocean, at least seven miles high from the water's surface and twenty away from any form of land.

It was beginning to storm, quite coincidentally, I soon realized. Lightning was flashing all around me, and thunder roared in my ears as the wind picked up and the storm grew in intensity. I struggled to keep my footing at the edge of that building, and it almost seemed like the winds wanted me to escape. They were screaming at me, trying to guide me to freedom. I could hear the guards trying to break down the door to the roof, but none of that mattered. Only one thing did, and I was going to have that if it killed me.

I took a breath, risking one look at the guards now running across the roof to me. I gave them a wry smile and a mock salute before turning my back to them and closing my eyes.

I jumped.

I thrived on the adrenaline rush I gained from breaking the water's surface. I shot back up almost instantly, and I can say I never felt quite the thrill. I was actually laughing as I swam away, giddy with pride and joy.

"Ya hear that Parkhurst?" I screamed over my shoulder, still laughing as I swam off. "It's the sound of freedom! Let it sink in, boys! You're never going to feel it again once I'm through with you!"

I don't remember much of my journey back. I do, however, remember collapsing onto the shore of England's mainland with the greatest exhaustion I had ever experienced. My limbs felt like lead, and I found I couldn't go any further, my chest heaving with each breath I took. I simply lay there, sprawled out on the beach shore in a pair of soaking wet jeans and a drenched purple t-shirt. I must've been quite the sight, a thirteen year-old escaped mental patient laughing her head off, but I was too tired and overjoyed to care. I welcomed sleep for once, letting Morpheus claim me for I knew he held a night of pleasant dreams for me.


	3. Chapter Two On the Run from the Sane

Chapter 2

"On the Run from the Sane"

Why did I think this was going to be easy?

I mentally cursed myself as I ran through the docks, a good fifty men chasing after me. I had lost quite a few of them already, but there were still about ten guards that wanted my head on a silver platter.

I let my instincts take over, and, before long, I was running along the boardwalks, leaping onto a fishing boat and continuing to jump from vessel to vessel as I made my escape.

Well, at least I got a good night's sleep.

"Get the bloody heck out of my way!" I shouted, pushing through the sailors before leaping off the last boat in the line and silently thanking The Lord as I landed on dry ground and kept running with no real destination in mind.

I let out a groan of annoyance as bullets whizzed by me, barely missing my ear. I darted behind a few shipping crates and pulled out the revolver I had taken from the asylum. Of course Parkhurst's men would start shooting. That's why they had guns, right?

Well, I had one too.

"Okay, I've got six rounds. Ten guards," I muttered to myself, reloading the revolver and sparing a look to see how close the men were to apprehending me. "Two shots have to be able to take out three men each. The rest one each."

I sighed, pulling back the hammer. "Make 'em count, Aurora."

One shot. One down.

Two shots. Two down.

Three shots. Five down.

Four shots. Eight down.

Five shots. Nine down

Six shots. Ten down.

I whistled fondly, peeking my head out from cover to find each man with a large whole in his chest and toppling like dominoes. "Man, I'm good."

"Not good enough."

Aw schist.

I ducked my head to avoid the meaty fist aiming straight for me, but I wasn't fast enough, the force of the blow sending me crashing into a crate of cantaloupes. (Cantaloupes of all things? Gosh those hurt. Why couldn't I have fallen into a crate of pillows?)

"Aw, did the big brute hurt his hand?" I gave a mock sympathetic pout as I got to my feet and saw the attacker rubbing his knuckles. "My, you're an ugly fellow. Dark beady eyes, crooked teeth, a frame the size of a truck… I'll admit you're strong, but have you ever heard of dental floss?

"Don't talk so fast girl."

I gave a sigh as I was raised off the ground by a hand around my throat, my toes barely touching the ground. I grinned at him despite the fact I was being slowly suffocated. "Did you really think that I left Parkhurst with only a pistol for protection?"

His eyes widened in shock (quite literally) as I whipped out the taser and rammed it into his neck. I was dropped immediately, his falling unconscious within seconds.

"Let's see that was how many men? Forty? Fifty? And all against little ol' me." I laughed, reaching into the brute's holster and taking out his revolver to inspect it. "Hmm… Another .38 caliber. Don't mind if I do."

I emptied that pistol, reloading my revolver with the bullets I had just acquired. It would have been easier just to take the new revolver, but I really preferred the one I was already in possession of. It was smaller and more lightweight and could get the job done, and that's all I really needed.

"Let's see," I whistled, climbing up a stack of shipping crates as to get a better idea on where I should go. "I want to avoid Scotland Yard; they're probably already looking for me. I need somewhere with little crowds that I could get recognized in."

I grinned, hopping off the crates and heading off in the direction of the one place they wouldn't expect me to be.

221B Baker Street, here I come.


	4. Chapter Three Elementary, My Dear Holmes

Chapter 3

"Elementary, My Dear Holmes"

I picked the lock to the old flat using a few bobby pins I had found and slowly entered. I was silent as I crept up those seventeen steps, easing my way into the drawing room without taking a breath. No one home? Perfect.

I was seated in a plush armchair and playing with a skull when they returned, and I must say I rather enjoyed the look of shock that flickered across the consulting detective's face while the doctor nearly keeled over in faint. "Mister Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Hamish Watson, I presume?"

"Oh, don't bother going for the revolver," I chuckled as Watson's hand reached for the pistol resting on the end kitchen table. "You wouldn't shoot even if you held it in your hands. The good doctor's too much of a nurturer for that."

"I've killed people," he stated firmly, and I grinned.

"Well, so have I!" I exclaimed, throwing the skull into the air with a laugh and catching it again. "Join the club, Doctor. Now, Mister Holmes, can you tell me where you got this piece from? I daresay, I think I know this fellow. He was a good friend of mine from the asylum. Well, when I say friend… Anyways, they called him Psycho Steve. Say, did you know it was possible to murder seven people with a plastic fork? I learned a lot from Steve…"

"The things you learn," Watson remarked dryly, catching the skull as I tossed it to him and turned my attention to the detective glaring daggers at me.

I leaned forward in my seat, clasping my hands together as I asked eagerly, "Now, would you like to go first, or should I?"

"Ladies first…" he murmured thoughtfully, circling me like a vulture around its prey. I paid it no mind.

"Well, your clothes are wet but only the elbow, meaning you were leaning on something with your arm propped up. Now I would think outside, but, no, it hasn't rained in this portion of London. There's a faint smell of bourbon about you so I would say you were at a bar. Now you aren't one to drink by what I've heard so you must have been on a case."

I grinned as I was given an even more threatening glare. "So I was right! Splendid! Now let's continue, shall we? Doctor Watson came with you as a back-up, yet he left his revolver here. Why? If he was working on a case with you, of course he would bring his military issued pistol! It's a common defense. Well, obviously he hadn't planned on helping you. He was going on a date, and you tagged along again!"

"How do you know so much about us?" His voice was cold and calculating, yet there was curious tone beneath it.

"Elementary, my dear Holmes! It was really a rather simple deduction," I stated simply, loving how irked the two men were becoming. "Now would you care to hear about the doctor's date? Oh, of course you would. Long, shoulder length brown hair. Crimson lipstick. About five foot seven. Another teacher? Really, Doctor, pick something more exciting for a change."

"Is that it?"

"No, not at all, my dear Holmes! She wore a fine red dress with sequins and a white jacket along with a necklace of fake pearls. How's that?"

"You're quite the intelligent one," he remarked simply before nearly snarling, "My turn."

He gave me a quick look-over. "You've been on the run."

"Told by my shoes and probably the near broken jawbone along with the bruise forming beneath my left eye."

"Correct. You've been firing a gun recently."

"Gun residue on my hands. Next?"

"You were locked away for quite some time."

"My pale complexion and the bruising on my wrists. Give me something more complicated."

"You've been strangled."

"Yep! Yesterday morning."

"You seek my help."

"No schist, Sherlock. Now sit down before I change my mind and just decide to kill you both," I said simply, waving for them to grab a seat.

So I explained everything to them. I told them of how my parents paid to have me locked away. I told them how I learned to fake my being in the cell when I was really in the headmaster's office, reading and gaining as much knowledge of possible. I told them of my escape a mere two days ago, and I told them of how I was now a fugitive across the country.

To put it lightly, I was surprised to find their not running to the phone and dialing up Scotland Yard.

"Sooooo…" I drawled out, tapping my fingers against the arm of my seat without uncertainty. "Will ya help me?"

"Help you with what? Revenge on Parkhurst or finding your parents?" Holmes questioned simply, and I grinned.

"Both, of course."

"I was so hoping you'd say that. Do you have any clue as to who you really are?"

"None whatsoever. I do know, however, that they left me at Parkhurst on exactly

September twenty-ninth, 1999, a mere day after I was born."

"September twenty-ninth? That's today," Watson pointed out, whereas Holmes and I

merely glared at him for a bit at the absurdly obvious remark.

"Nooooooo… You know what? I thought today was April first! That would explain the idiocy in this world at the least," I remarked sarcastically before groaning, "I've been out of Parkhurst for only a couple days now, and all I've seen is stupidity. Mister Holmes, how do you bear it? I'm beginning to think the insane are brighter! No offense to you, Doctor. You seem near the brightest of these pigheaded fools."

Doctor Watson didn't seem to find it a compliment, but he smiled just the same as he stood, patting my shoulder lightly. "Well, for what's it worth, happy late birthday. Care for a coffee or tea?"

"I've never had either. Surprise me," I grinned.

"You're not such a bad thing; are you?" he murmured, more to himself than me. "Just a bit erratic, but good hearted none the less."

"Whatever helps ya sleep at night, Doc."

"Let me ask you something."

I felt his hand rest on my shoulder, and I looked up in confusion. "Yeah?"

"You said you killed men. These were in your escape, right?"

I gave a fake gasp. "Why, I'm hurt! Thinking little old me would kill in cold blood."

I grinned at the chuckle that escaped his throat, his ruffling my already tousled onyx hair. I lost my smile, however, upon meeting eyes with the detective again.

"What?" I asked defiantly. "I'm not allowed to be happy? Here, pass me Steve's head, and I'll go back to the sadistic creature I was a few minutes ago."

"Don't touch my skull."

"Well, alright then, Mister Snappy-Pants. Can I touch Steve's skull then?"

I stopped at the look he gave me, my instantly retracting my statement. "Okay, so the great Sherlock Holmes isn't one for puns. I can work with that. What did the detective say to the corpse-"

Once again, he glared at me.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Yeesh. Hey, Doc, is he always like this?"

"Mostly."

"You poor soul."

"I don't mind it," Watson said simply, setting a cup of tea in my hands. "He's different; that's all. Now careful. It's hot."

"I like the way you think!" I grinned. "See if the rest of the world thought like that, I wouldn't be in this predicament. The world needs more like you, Doc."

He smiled, finally taking one of my remarks as a compliment. "Well, thank you."

"The world could also use a few more like us-" I gestured to Mister Snappy-Pants. "-too, though. I mean, we've got what? Three people on this earth who can actually think? That's kind of sad."

"Three?"

"Oh, now Mister Snappy-Pants wants to talk to me." I rolled my eyes. "Yes three. You've a brother; don't you?"

"How do you know about Mycroft?"

"I told you. I researched everything I could in Parkhurst. You don't think I would learn about the great detective's elder brother?"

"Yes… Yes, I suppose."

"Oh, come now; spare a smile, Mister Holmes. It's one thing to be stoic, but that gives you no reason to glare."

"You-" He jabbed a finger in my chest as he got up. "-give me every reason to."

"Well, what'd I do? Geez, you crack a few jokes, and you get the third degree-"

"It's simply not possible that anyone could have this much intellect at your age," he said simply, bending over to look me in the eye. "However, once you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

"Gosh, you're tall."

"And you're short."

"Touché. Say, I see your foils on the mantel; do you fence?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


	5. Chapter Four All's Well That Ends Well

Chapter 4

"All's Well That Ends Well… Or Not"

"En garde, Monsieur Holmes!"

For once, Mister Snappy-Pants didn't seem too dreadfully annoyed by my existence as we fenced. He had backed me up to the coffee table, my parrying and striking whenever I deemed fit.

"You are quite skilled," he remarked thoughtfully as I ducked away from a blow to leap onto the table. "Where did you learn?"

"I read a manual online in the headmaster's office," I answered simply, jumping back away from the table as he took a step towards me. Our foils met, and we were soon face to face, my grinning madly as he simply smirked. "Pretty good for just reading, eh?"

"Good," he admitted with a nod, and with a few swift swipes of the blade, I found myself on the ground, his foot on my stomach and his blade at my neck to hold me down. He finally gave a real smile as he taunted, "But not good enough."

"I say, Sir, that was bloody brilliant! The way you hit my wrist to knock the blade out of my hand and then putting the hilt into my gut to knock me off balance- Perfect! Utterly perfect!" I exclaimed, taking the detective's offered hand to get to my feet.

"I try."

"No, you don't. People like us- We're naturally like this. You don't try. You just do!"

"Quite right, I suppose," he remarked with an amused and pleased look.

I grinned triumphantly, jabbing my elbow in his side playfully. "See? I'm not too terrible. You just gotta get used to me; that's all."

"Aurora, do you have a place to stay for the night?" Watson piped up with some concern, and I shook my head, only to find a pillow and blanket being thrown at me. "Get some rest, Kid."

"Can do, Doc!" I called as he retired himself. "Thanks!"

"Just don't break anything," Holmes murmured, pointing to the couch before leaving to his bedroom as well.

With a satisfied grin, I eased myself down onto the sofa with a yawn, curling up beneath the blanket and closing my eyes with the murmur, "Twas a good day."

I woke to a hand being placed over my mouth. I instantly snapped alert, all too aware of what was happening, and bolted out of my makeshift bed to head for the door. "Doctor Watson! Mister Holmes-!"

I felt a revolver connect with the back of my skull, and I crumpled to my hands and knees, trying to regain my senses. My vision was blurred and fading quickly, and my mind was too numb to comprehend anything. The last thing I heard before completely blacking out was a snarl, "I told ya we'd find 'er. Let's get outta here," and as I felt a swift slice of a fencing foil through my side, I finally fell unconscious.

I groaned coming to, instinctively moving to hold my head in my hands when I realized three things:

1. I had a headache to cover all of Russia.

2. I was going to kill someone very soon.

3. I was hogtied and couldn't move, much less kill anyone.

I pried open my eyes, wincing at the sudden movement and flare of light. I had so many swear words I wanted to release right then, but upon finding myself gagged, I couldn't say them.

Bummer.

I can hardly begin to describe the pain I was in. My right side stung from where the kidnappers had sliced me with the fencing sword. Normal foils wouldn't have hurt me at all, but no. My attackers just had to remove the button at the end of the sword to add extra pain.

Note to self: No survivors when I escape.

My head swam, and I could hardly think. That in itself was enough to drive me mad because that's practically all I do.

Wait a minute. When did my eyes close? Schist…

I opened my eyes, again cringing at the brief flare of light as my eyes adjusted to the light. Okay, now what do we have here? Stone room about eighteen hundred square feet. Several hundred fenced in cages with no occupants (besides mine, of course). No windows. Barely any light. I squinted, ignoring the sharp pain in the back of my head as I strained my neck forward. Yellow lines? Wait… Oh, these guys were good. Using an abandoned parking structure was clever. The only thing I had a problem with was the fact that, as far as I knew, there weren't any abandoned lots in all of London.

Well, that's just dandy.

I pushed that thought as far out of my mind as I quickly realized what these cages were being used for. A smuggling ring. And what were they smuggling? People.

I worked hastily at my bonds, pulling, pushing, and twisting, but no matter what

I did, I couldn't get out of them.

So, I can escape from a straitjacket, but I can't break a simply piece of rope? Gosh, I'm losing my touch.

"Here she is, Sir. They said she was the one you wanted."

I stiffened at the voice as I realized this wasn't the one I had heard at the flat, and my eyes darted to the door of my prison which was slowly being opened to reveal the, I assumed, buyers.

Two men.

The one that had spoken was just like the wall of meat I had faced at the docks except somewhat fairer looking. He had clearly defined features, blonde hair, tanned skin, and green eyes, but that was all ruined by a large scar running from the outer corner of his right eye down to the corner of his mouth. Still, he was an improvement when it came to Tall, Dark, and Meaty from before.

The man standing beside the one who had spoken looked like he belonged in _The Godfather_. He wore a fine black suit (Westwood by my guess), crisp and clean, with black wingtip shoes. His expression was that of a child in a candy store, and as he bent next to me, I instinctively lurched away, glaring daggers at my captors.

"Oh, she's a feisty one; isn't she?" he asked excitedly, leaning in to pry off my gag.

Ha. Big mistake for him. I instantly bit his finger, making sure to break skin before letting him pull away.

"Sir, are you alright-"

Mister Mafia simply raised his hand in dismissal as he leaned in closer to me, a skeptical look and amused smile on his face.

"Now, why'd you have to go on and do that, hmm?" he murmured, cupping my chin in his hand.

"Because you disgust me," I snarled. "Good enough?"

"Oh, you are a feisty one!" he said in approval, and he looked positively giddy as he shot me a childish grin. "Now I have a little proposition for you, my dear."

"I don't work with crooks."

"Who said I was a crook?"

"You're at a smuggling ring and overlooking the merchandise obviously chosen for you specifically. What else would you be?"

"Oh, you're smart too…" He smiled with approval, moving to untie my hands and feet. "This is going to be so much fun. Now just listen closely at what I'm about to offer you, hmm?"

"No harsh movements, Dearie," he scolded, waving _my_ pistol in the air. "Now, what would you say if I told you that I know where your parents are really?"

That had me. "You know-"

"Oh, I know everything about little Aurora, the famous thirteen year-old escapee from Parkhurst, the most torturous insane asylum in all the earth." He cupped my cheek in his hand, and when I tried to move away, he simply held up the pistol again. "You're quite intelligent for your age. I could use someone like you on my team. In return, I could help you with that little dilemma involving your parents."

He brushed the blood matted hair away from my face with a tenderness I knew could easily be taken away and replaced with brute force. His voice was mockingly soft and sympathetic as he cooed, "Such a pretty little thing. It'd be a real shame to see those chocolate brown eyes so lifeless."

Chocolate brown? What the bloody heck was wrong with this guy?

"So," he murmured, pulling his hand away to place the revolver at my temple. "What will it be?"

I set my jaw. "What do you think?"

"You would be rich," he tempted, letting the barrel of the revolver graze my chin. "The greatest crime lord in all of history- Well, second to me and my companion of course."

"I don't care about money," I growled defiantly, inwardly bracing myself for the man to shoot and end my life.

"You care about getting back at your parents, though." He smiled. "And I know exactly where they are. They're living in luxury while you're on the run from now the entire world. Is that really how you want this all to end? Do you want them to win?"

Something inside of me stirred angrily at his words, and I wanted so desperately to make a deal with that bloody fool, but the (somewhat) sane part of me told me it'd be a mistake.

"Think about it," he said after a bit of silence, turning away from me as he stood. He exited, telling his little friend to lock the door so I wouldn't escape, and, before long, I was alone.

I was on my feet immediately, trying to get a look at the lock on my cage. It was simple enough, just an old bike chain and lock. If the manuals I read were true, this would be a decently simple lock to pick.

I pat down myself, trying to see what I still had. Mister Mafia had my revolver, and my taser was missing.

I nearly shouted with joy as I found the two pieces of electrical cord that I had taken when on the docks. I peeled the rubber off with my nails and teeth until I simply had two wires perfect for lock picking. The lock was indeed simple, and I instantly realized it was almost too simple. That man truly gave me the impression of a crime lord. Why would he let me escape so easily?

I pushed the thought out of my mind, eyes darting about as I tried to figure out what level I was on. 4C and no elevator?

I stopped short as I neared the ramp going down. Wouldn't they expect me down there? If I went up, I could scurry down the wall or drainpipe. Or maybe they knew I would think this way and were actually up there…

Oh, screw this. I'm going down.

Sadly, I didn't realize how literally that statement would be taken. I could hardly see two feet in front of me as I staggered down the ramp. My head swam. My side ached and seared with pain. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I was finally feeling the pain from being choked and punched in the jaw, and everything simply hurt.

I don't remember even falling, but I do remember seeing sunlight as I was getting pulled to my feet slowly, the world spinning while I weakly protested the movement.

"Now, now, my dear, you've really hurt yourself; haven't you?" a familiar voice purred in my ear as unconsciousness finally claimed me.


End file.
